


The Selected

by hbur08



Category: Original Work
Genre: Child Soldiers, Control, F/M, Gen, Murder, Romance, Sectors, Soldiers, Suspense, Tattoos, The Selected, Thriller, War, fight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hbur08/pseuds/hbur08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She will be broken, shattered, and then rebuilt</p><p>Connie Harper is one of the Selected. That means she will lose her entire identity and be built a new one, all the while being trained into a merciless killer. The centre of England has been broken up into ten Segments, and it is said that dangerous people lie beyond and need to be stopped. Connie knows there is more to it than that. She wants to understand what is going on and what everyone is fighting for, including herself. One thing she also wants to understand is why people are protecting her... and from what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chaapter One

For the moment, my mind is my own. I have my own thoughts, my own sense of control, and I can feel my emotions and my emotions alone. Right now, I am feeling an odd sense of calm pulsing through my veins, cool and gentle as it rides the waves of my steaming bloodstream. It’s a strange comparison. 

Tomorrow will be the day that I may die, or live to share the elements of my body. Tomorrow is the day where many lives will shatter, only to be rebuilt with stronger intentions. Tomorrow is the day of the Selections. 

Strangely, I do not fear what tomorrow may bring. Years ago, people my age would have been crying into their pillows by now, or holding their parents or siblings for as long as they can before it is time to face their future. They mostly feared death. The Line Up is what terrifies the strongest of mankind, the soldiers holding handguns away from their bodies and towards the Selected, shooting down one at a time as they see fit. I am yet to witness this event, but I have heard on more than one occasion that there are more dead than alive.

I do not fear this. 

I have to think about what is beyond the first stage, the Selections. I have to think about the next step, the Breakage. They say that the Breakage is what will either destroy you or make you unbeatable. Outside of the crumbling walls surrounding our intertwining towns and villages, known as the Segment, new lives are born, and for many it is as if life finally has a meaning. That is what I want. 

I sit on the ground in the living room of our brittle home. My parents are in the kitchen, which is through the archway across the room. They murmur quietly to one another, and I know my mother is crying. I stare at the wallpaper that is peeling away from the wall before me, the old TV playing quietly in the corner of my eye. It was once a creamy coloured paper, making the room feel light and safe, but now it seems to be in disarray, its edges yellowing from time. We can’t afford new wallpaper, no one can. 

We received notice of my Selection just two weeks ago, when a man with dark hair and a scarred face knocked on our door with a stiff hand. I had answered, and he’d introduced himself as Adrian Stalling, a soldier training in Sector Five. Section Five is for the most powerful beings, where most of the trainees go on to be our country’s leaders. No one knows where it is, as there are six Sectors all together, all in different locations, some speculated to even be across stretches of sea. 

“Miss Connie Harper?” he’d asked. He had no expression, no emotion in his eyes. I knew he’d been trained to hide any kind of emotion. 

“Yes?” I’d said, feeling my mother come up behind me. 

“I am pleased to inform you that you are one of the Selected. Congratulations.” He’d handed me a letter, leaving as quickly as he had come. While I opened it to read the location and time, mum broke down to a heap on the ground.

She’d been crying ever since. 

Becoming one of the Selected is a somewhat privilege in this day and age; if you are to live, you will become a lethal weapon, but if you are to die, then you are doing society a favour. 

Boys and girls between the ages of fourteen and twenty one are watched for the entire year, whether it be in school or out in public. Men and women, the Watchers, take stations in buildings that are popular with the younger population, with electronic information pads that has our data on them, from our date of birth to our favourite pass times. They make the Selections, first in a vast amount before narrowing them down in the final weeks leading up to the Line Up. Anyone who appears to be useless to our society will be the ones that shall die, and the ones that appear to be strong both physically and mentally will be the ones to move on to Sector One, the Breakage Sector. Those in between will be  
left to live in this dying society many call home. 

I would like to go and live in Sector One, but death would also be a good option. My chances of surviving are of a balanced chance; I have a strong, determined mind, but my body is not built for brute force.

I stand and walk to the archway, staring at the two people who had raised me over the last seventeen years. My dad holds mum tightly to his chest, shushing her while he tries to blink away his own tears. For me, tomorrow is the day of my escape, but it is also the day when my parents inevitably lose their one and only child. I try not to let the sight of them pain me, as that may slightly crack the protective barrier of my mind I have built over the last few years. I need that barrier to survive this life, which means emotional attachment would end up being a terrible weapon against me. But I can’t help it. I let a croak escape through my lips and stumble towards them. 

Mum’s arm instantly extends, pulling me between her and my dad. Dad encircles us in a strong, masculine hold, choking back his sobs while mum cries freely. I cling to their arms, allowing the tears to slip, letting the raw emotion of my certain abandonment poison a small section of my mind. I let their warmth engulf me, protect me, and I feel the hot tears fall into my hair and my clothes. 

“You fight like hell, you hear me? You fight until that is all you can do.” says dad, his voice rough. I nod. He believes I will travel to Sector One. He believes it me, and I press my forehead to his arm that is level with my eyes. He pulls mum tighter into me so that it nearly hurts, but I simply feel intoxicated with a love that I will never experience again. I have to relish it. I have to!

“When you get to Sector One,” mum says, her breath on my neck. “try to live as well as survive.” 

“I won’t try.” I say sternly, despite the thick lump in my throat. “I will live.” 

Dad releases us, and he gently grasps my shoulders and turns me to him. His wise, watery grey eyes stare down into mine, and I see nothing but pride. He pinches my cheek, forcing a smile. “Do us proud.” 

“I will.” I assure him, and he pulls me into a single embrace. He’s warm and solid, and it is reassuring. This is the man who had protected me since I was a child, the man who had defended me from the stronger kids that tried to intimidate me in the streets, the man who still calls me his little princess. 

I turn to mum. She smiles sadly at me. “Be strong, baby girl, and show the world what you are made of.” she says, leaning forward to kiss my forehead before hugging me in a suffocating hold. I hold her just as tightly, breathing in so I can memorize her scent; lemons and with a hint of chocolate. This is the woman who taught me how to laugh in a dying world, the woman who would have a flour fight with me when baking cakes, the woman who is blinded by love for her husband and daughter. 

I hold them. I breathe them in. I remember them. 

***

I cannot sleep, naturally. Instead I am listening to the voices that drift through my slightly ajar window, all male and sounding confident. I know who they are. They are the rebels in this area, the few who dare to stay out after curfew, lurking in the darkness like predators hunting for the weak. One voice I recognise belongs to Tony Pierce, a boy in my Unit 2 History class. 

“Sector One is where I belong. Tomorrow I finally escape this hell hole!” he booms, sounding as excited as a child receiving a new toy. 

“We’ll show them bastards what real soldiers are. The one that gave me my notice was skinnier than a twig, how pathetic is that?” says another boy, who I believe is Ant Halls. 

“Did you hear? The twig is in the Line Up. She doesn’t stand a chance.” Tony laughs, clearly not caring about keeping his voice down. He hates me, I hate him. We have made our feelings for one another perfectly clear in the past. 

“It will be hilarious to watch her go down.” A third voice says, one I do not recognise and have no desire to identify. 

The others laughed. “She won’t know what hit her.” says Tony, and then his voice goes louder. “Hear that, bones? Tomorrow you’ll be put out of your misery!” 

I get up. Grasping my one prised possession, a black zip-down jumper that was once referred to as a “hoody”, I slip it on and zip it up as far as it will go to conceal my chest, which is protected by a flimsy white vest that is a size to small. The hoody was given to me as a gift three years ago, sold to my dad for a fair price. He gave it to me for my birthday, and even though it had been two to three sizes too big, I had never been so happy. It made me feel like what I should have been; a teenager. 

Pulling the hood over my head to shield my face in shadow, I open the window wider and leaned on the frame. I smile, and the three boys instantly recoil, but only slightly.  
“It would be a nice way out.” I say softly, cocking my head. Tony stares at me for a moment, although he is almost invisible in the shadows below along with his black clothing. His face, though, seems pale, which makes my smile turn into a grin. He is trying to swallow back his fear. 

Tony Pierce and I have never got on. During our first day of high school, he pulled my hair and tossed me to the ground. He pointed and me at laughed when I started to cry, and then started taunting me about my imminent death a few years down the line. However, after a further several years of cruelty and taunting, I fought back. One afternoon on my way back home, Tony followed me with his friends. His intention had been to frighten me by throwing me against a wall, with the added goal of touching me. 

He never anticipated that I would be carrying a knife around with me. Just as his eyes roamed hungrily over my body, his friends laughing behind him, I’d dug the knife out of my pocket and sliced his arm. The wound had been deep enough that he’d needed stitches. 

That had been about ten months ago, and even though Tony gave me a wide berth for a while, he soon got back to his old tactics. The thing is, during the time of his retreat, I’d gained new strategies of my own. 

Tony crosses his arms and frowns. “Not scared then?” he asks. 

“No. More like excited.” I say. 

“Why the hell are you excited?” Ant demands, clearly not liking the reaction I am delivering. I smile again. 

“Imagine that I survive tomorrow along with you. Then I have the pleasure of training alongside you... or preferably against you.” I smirk, and before they can respond, I lean back and close the window tight. The idea of fighting against Tony thrills me. A part of me hopes he survives tomorrow, because then he will have the further challenge of surviving my wrath in Sector One.

Should I get there. 

I climb back into bed, only to climb back out a second later. I can’t sleep in here, not on my last night. Slowly, I creep out of my door and into the dark hallway, feeling the wall as I search for mum and dad’s door. Once I seek it, I slip it open and step into the gloom, where their steady breaths float into my ears. I know they’re awake. I climb onto the bed and slip into the space between them, and instantly their arms encircle me. 

Moments pass, and I think we all fall asleep together for the first and last time.


	2. Chapter Two

I stare at my reflection. I am a short, slim girl with hair that falls over my chest, hanging in ringlets. My eyes are big and round, pools of ocean deeper than any abyss. I am pale, so pale, but I am not without the slight pinkness in my cheeks. My features are sharp, determined, narrow. I look fierce, and yet I look weak. 

Perfect. 

The knock on the door that sounds as I descend the stairs makes mum shiver. She looks at me and her body seems to deflate. I am wearing my best clothes; my ripped old jeans, a plain black t-shirt and my hoody. Might as well go out wearing my best. 

I see my father open the door, where a soldier stands wearing brown boots, tight khaki trousers and a black t-shirt, a gun tucked neatly in his waistband and his arms heavily tattooed. He stares at us with sharp green eyes, his blonde hair swept back from his handsome face. He can be no older than twenty one. 

“I am Jake Matthews from Sector Four. I shall be escorting miss Harper to the Line Up.” he says, his voice flat, perhaps sounding bored. I look at his face and wonder if he will be the one to shoot me. 

Mum chokes on a sob, but she holds herself in check as we leave our home. The moment the door closes, my heart involuntarily sinks. I will never enter that house again. Closing my eyes as dad wraps his arm around my shoulders, mum’s arm weaving around my waist, we follow the young man to my fate. I slip my hand in my pocket, clenching one last possession that I hold dear. My pebble. 

When I was seven years old, back when we had a car and could leave the Segment without problems, mum and dad took me to the beach. The weather had been terrible, rain and wind and even a stage where hale had fallen. Mum and dad had wanted to get me out of the house, give me some air away from home, but they were incredibly disappointed by the weather. However I was happy, and even though there was no sand or blue seas, I thought that it was beautiful. When the rain had stopped, my parents walked me along the shore, our feet making crunching noises caused by the rocks. 

I remember there being soldiers, standing still as statues on the sea wall. They’d had guns, handguns in their waistbands and shotguns held from waist to shoulder. I’d stared at them in awe, ignoring my parent’s gentle nudges to keep moving, and I knew that someday I may become one of them. Tall, strong, and appearing incredibly sharp. No expression, no relaxed poster, all severe and jagged. And then, at my feet, I saw a pebble among the many sharp rocks, round and shining from the water. I’d picked it up and ran my fingers over its smoothed edges, and at that time it was oversized for my small hands. 

I took it home to remind me that not everything was razor-sharp, and it remained a charm to me ever since. It only seems logical to take it with me today and I clench it tight.   
We are led to the centre of town, which is usually busy with people shopping for food, clothes and health supplies. Some of the people here have money and a fair amount. There are a few families here whose sons and daughters have gone on to train at the Sectors, and they send money back to their family to get them by. The others work here, including my parents. They own a shoe shop, and they get us by, but it will be easier once I’m gone. 

But the centre is not busy today, at least not in the way I am used to. About twenty soldiers stand by, families lingering behind them with quivering children. There are a few onlookers who will wait to dispose of our bodies, and a few will have the decency to pay their respects to our sacrifices. I recognise a few of the other Selected. There is Maxine Daily, who stands before her mother with tears streaming down her face. Another is Cole Cassidy, who stands with pride beside his lone mother and little sister. Tony, Ant and a boy called Ben linger together, standing respectively away from their families in order to look strong.

Finally, the Wall catches my eye. It stands tall and menacing, covered in plaster painted white which has a fresh coat added every six months. However, no new layer of paint can cover the years of blood stains that fester along it, as well as the small holes and dents from bullets that were through and through. After today, once it is painted, a white sheet with be pinned to it in order to hide the dark shadows that will mark our fates. 

Nobody speaks, so when a lanky man comes to stand before the wall and asks for quiet, it is unnecessary. He is in charge of the Line Up here in our Segment, and is no one other than Blaine Jackson. He is perhaps in his late forties, his once blonde hair now greying, his average face now becoming heavy with wrinkles. He clears his throat. 

“It is that time again, where the youngsters from our Segment are chosen to help improve our way of life. Some will rise, and some will fall.” he says, his voice not as old as his features. “For the ones that rise, a new life will be born. You shall move on to Sector One to learn the ways of combat, and it will be the greatest challenge of your lives. It is the place where you shall break, shatter, and then rebuilt. You will be bound to new faces, and your alliance will no longer hang in this Segment, but it will lie with the country.” His eyes scan the crowd, locking on each of our faces, many of which he has watched grow and transform over the years, mine included. He does not falter. “As for the fallen, your sacrifice will be forever remembered. Giving your lives will help improve our way of life, and we will be thankful for the rest of our lives.”

I bite my cheek. Sacrifice? Murder sounds better. The soldier, Jake, shifts to the side, signifying for me to step forward. The other soldiers do the same. Mothers sob, fathers sniffle, siblings wail. We all say our final goodbyes, kissing the cheeks of our families, holding them one last time. 

Finally, with my heart in my throat and my stomach tying itself in knots, I step forward and mingle with the other Selected. I should not be afraid, that would be foolish, and yet it only seems logical. Either way, the life I know is about to end. My eyes flicker towards the sobbing Maxine, who looks back at me as we line up. She stands two foot away at my side, trying to control herself, and on my other side is a blonde girl who must be fourteen. She is expressionless, but as she turns to take a glimpse at me, her baby blue eyes stare right back into mine. I shiver and look away. 

We face ahead, and Blaine paces slowly before us but will not look at us. “There are eighteen of you. You may know that that is a small number. The majority of you will go down.” 

As he speaks, the soldiers take their places, and Jake locks his gaze on mine for a moment. I don’t think he sees me, but rather a target. All of them stand five feet away, motionless, hands ready on their guns. My heart hammers, deafening me and it is hard to concentrate. 

“These men hold .22 guns. Some will be loaded, others will not.” says Blaine. “They will point the barrel to each of your heads, and will pull the trigger in unison. A word of advice! Do not fear death, embrace it! It is a place we shall all visit, whether it be today or in ten years. We all fear it, but it is also what defines us, motivates us. Let death be your shadow, and life will become much brighter when you know what to fight for, and what to escape.” 

All at once, arms lift and guns are pointed at our heads. Jake looks blank, like he doesn’t care. Behind him, my mother crouches to her knees, sobbing into her knees as my father watches in a trance. I cannot hear anything, the pounding of my heart is too loud. I clench my hands into fists at my sides, staring directly into the barrel being pointed at me. Jake’s finger is poised, ready and waiting. 

I think Blaine begins to count down. “Five!”

I can’t think. 

“Four!” 

I feel the sudden weight of the pebble in my pocket. I chew my lip, and taste blood. 

“Three!” 

Pull it.

“Two!”

_Pull it._

“One!” 

_Pull the damn trigger! End it!_

I hear a click, and I my eardrums suddenly explode with noise.


	3. Chapter Three

I stare at Jake, panting, my hand now clenching the pebble in my pocket, and he slowly lowers his weapon. Something warm drips down either side of my face, causing my stomach to twist. My mother wails along with many others, and I can smell a range of smells; blood, sweat and gun powder. I’m trembling, my heart threatening to break through my chest and run a mile, and I realize that I have bitten my cheek raw. I daren’t look around me, and yet I have to. 

To my left, the fourteen year old lies in a pool of blood around her head. To my right, Maxine falls and wrapped her arms around her legs, retching. Further down the line to my right, Ant and Ben lay dead, crumpled on the floor and looking oddly innocent. Tony stands tall, although his face is ashen as beads of sweat run down his temples. Cole stands motionless beside him, his eyes closed as if still waiting for a hit. To my left, three more from the child lies dead, one alive and then another five motionless on the ground. 

I want to scream, or cry, or throw up. I want to run but my legs won’t work. Why won’t they work? Oh god, oh god! Someone is screaming but I don’t know who. I can’t move. I can’t move! 

“Connie!” I hear my name, who is shouting me? I strain to listen through the ringing of gunshots in my ears. “We love you, Connie! We love you!” It’s my mother. I spot her, and she is being dragged away. Why? Why is she leaving me?

And then everything soon falls back into place. I am alive; I am going to Sector One. Parents are dragged away as soon as the shooting is over in order to keep them from trying to take their spared children home. I watch with a numbness blackening my body as soldiers drag my parents away, who thrash and scream at me. They tell me to live, and that is what I will do. 

“Congratulations! The nine of you will now leave this Segment, and you will be transported to Sector One. Further instructions will be delivered upon your arrival.” says Blaine, who is smiling at us. And then, with a somewhat cruel glint in his eyes, he adds, “Your assigned soldiers will take you to your cars. Safe journey.” And then he leaves. 

Jake tucks his weapon away, coming towards me and takes me by the elbow, pulling me away from the wall. I accidently smudge the girl’s blood, and I feel sick. Maxine has to be yanked to her feet and forced away, but Jake has to use less effort. The sound of screaming soon vanquishes, and silent onlookers bow their heads in respect for the fallen.  
Jake leads me away from the others, who also divide from one another. Separate cars, one for each of us. I feel that he is doing most of the effort, pulling me along while my feet work clumsily, my legs no longer firm beneath me. I think I’m crying, but I can’t be sure. I still feel too numb. 

But somehow, I work up the nerve to say something. “Was I a target?” I say.

Jake is quiet for a moment as we walk, and I half don’t expect an answer. Then he speaks with a gruff voice. “Not a target.”

“Then what?”

“I replace the innocent with the face of an enemy.” He looks at me. “The guilt weighs less that way.”

I nod. There is nothing more to say to that, and quite frankly, I am now too numb to move my lips. All I can do is let this stranger guide me away, and I envision the little girl by my side; alive one moment, dead the next. Her huge eyes are so vivid, and I think that, during our brief eye contact, she had been inwardly screaming with terror.

Fifteen minutes later, having left the town centre and now towards the border of the Segment, I spot it. The car is black and sleek, glistening in the sun as we approach it. Jake knocks on the back window, and I hear a clicking sound which must signify the doors unlocking. I look up, confused. 

“This is where I leave you.” he says flatly. 

“But I thought you were assigned to me.” I say, but my voice doesn’t sound like mine. Too hollow. 

“I will escort you for protection whenever you leave Sector One,” he pauses, looking at me, and for a moment I think I see pity in his eyes. “which won’t be for a while.” 

“Okay.” I murmur, and he opens the back door of the five door car. 

“Travel carefully, miss Harper.” he says, watching me climb in. He parts his mouth, as if to say something else, but then he thinks better off it. Checking that all of my limbs are safely inside, he pushes the door, and closes with a click. I flinch, but disguise it as I search for my seatbelt. 

The driver is a man in a black suit, his hair cut short and his eyes staring straight ahead. He looks to be about thirty, maybe older, but I can’t find myself to care. I’d thought that the Line Up would be quick and somewhat effortless, and I had hoped I would be able to handle it. But now I realize that I am trembling, my teeth grinding against one another as I try to hold back sobs. It burns intensely from the back of my eyes and down my throat, and if I wasn’t crying before, I definitely am now. Tears prick my eyes, momentarily blinding me, and I do my best to hide a sniffle. 

The driver starts the engine, which hums to life, and pulls away. He follows the road that leads to the main road, which is attached to three roads on either side. I know that the gates are close, and in a few minutes I see a sign that says NORTH SEGMENT EXIT STRAIGHT AHEAD. My throat burns even more. This will be the first time I have left the Segment in six years, the last time being a year after we went to the beach for a trip in the country. Two months later, fences went up and it was declared illegal to leave the Segment unless we are one of the Selected, due to safety reasons. Apparently, the world beyond the fence is not safe anymore, but why is beyond me. 

Nobody knows what we are fighting, as we are apparently not in the right to know. Our job is to birth and raise children into young, strong adults ready for training, and should said child be one of the Selected, the reward would be to have money sent to the remaining family in return for their departure. The amount of money sent depends on the applicant’s performance in training and in the line of duty, and I believe that this is also payment for being kept in the dark willingly. 

Two guards stand at the gates of the Segment, or rather my home, and they open them to let us pass. Ahead, I see another car, and the distance could be filled by three lorries. I slump back into the seat. 

“How long until we get there?” I ask, although I hardly care. 

It takes a moment for the driver to respond. “Five hours, miss Harper. Now would be a good time for some rest.” 

“Will you be driving me on more than one occasion?” I say, letting my eyes close while I wipe my cheeks. 

“I am your personal driver, yes. Whenever Sector One requires my assistance, I shall be transporting you from one place to another.” Perhaps people would think this is special treatment for the wealthy, and that it should be embraced and not taken for granted. I only fear it. This is not a luxury, I just know it. 

“Sleep, miss Harper.” says the driver. 

“Tell me your name, first.” I retorted hotly. “I have a right to know.”

He sighs. “I am known as Marcus Granby. Now please sleep, miss Harper, and I say that in your best interests.” 

I close my eyes and wonder if I will ever hear my first name again. Maybe not. I let myself go, feeling the agony in my chest develop and reality begins to dawn on me. Today I am leaving home. Today is the day of my escape. The agony is a mix in my chest, a mix of excitement and dread, alarm bells sounding all around me. My heart tells me to be happy and excited for what is to come, but my brain is screaming in terror and distress. I’m being torn in two with my conflicted emotions, and when I try to focus on nothing, the blue eyed girl comes into focus behind my lids, who then morphs into my parents. 

What will they do? What will they do tonight when it is time for dinner? I imagine that neither will eat, or sleep, or even move for that matter. They will become paralysed, suffering with a loss that no parent should bare. Somehow, I feel guilty. I will have a new life, a new home with new people, but what will they have?

I shake the thought away and beckon sleep. The vibrations of the moving car attempt to soothe me and eventually it works, as I soon drift away into nothing. 

The gunshots continue firing in my head. 

***

I sleep for the entire five hours, and I wake up on cue. Just as my lids flutter open, we are passing through some gates with two guards on either side, all armed, equally emotionless. I shift up straighter, despite the ache in my back from being in the same position for so long. I feel my eyes widen and a gasp escape my lips, for this is not what I expected. 

When I envisioned the Sectors before, I saw warehouses. Tall, metal, cold warehouses. Nothing more, nothing less. I’d imagined that they would have been surrounded by fences, which is indeed what I see now. But beyond that is something beyond my imagination. 

A building stands tall and wide, and I think it must be four or five stories high. It looks to be nearly the size of a football pitch and a half, but my god it’s beautiful. And it is made of glass. Blue, shimmering, fragile glass. It reflects everything around it, not offering anything on the inside to come into focus, which somehow add to the beauty. Each fragment of glass is separated into large squares that most likely resemble windows, and on the bottom floor it is the same apart from the middle section, which is transparent with glass doors. 

The building is surrounded by trees, green and blooming, some pink with flower petals. Grass also covers the ground on one side of the road, which bends towards the main doors, but continues around until it reattaches to itself on its way back to the entrance. This doesn’t look like a place when brutal soldiers are made. This looks like a place where hope lives. 

And that is what terrifies me, because I know that this is camouflage. 

We pass the main doors, following another black car that we’d been following earlier, and I realize that the road also breaks off to go down back, entering what looks like a tunnel. All around me goes black, and I can suddenly hear my breathing accelerate. 

We drive for a further five minutes, dipping further and further below every so often, until finally I am blinking against dull, yellowing lights. We follow the car in from around a bend, and Marcus stops just as the one in front does. Marcus has no time to say anything as my door opens, a hand snagging my arm and dragging me out. 

I don’t look up at the man pulling me, but I listen to Marcus pull away smoothly as another car pulls up in his place. I see two figures ahead of me, a man and boy, the boy seeming to resist the man’s grasp on his elbow. I swallow, and I suddenly find it hard to breathe.

We walk through the darkness for a few minutes, and then we walk through a narrow tunnel. It’s cold, causing goose bumps to form on my arms despite the sleeves of my hoody. Our footsteps echo against the walls, creating the illusion of a chilly, damp cave. However, the air is so dry down here that I have a sudden thirst, the saliva seeming to dry up in my throat. I keep moving.

The light grows brighter, and finally, I see doors. Huge, intimidating grey doors, with no windows but large handles. They look to be made of metal, and I am now faced with some kind of element I had first expected of this place. The man beside me releases my arm and shoves me ahead of him, where I bump into someone. They gasp, and I realize it is Maxine. Her eyes are raw from crying, her body shaking carelessly, and she grabs my wrist with what I think is for some kind of emotional support. I bite my lip and then hold her hand that holds mine.

After a few tense moments, the soldiers that led us here slowly depart, disappearing into the shadows. I look around. All in all there looks to be about fifty of us, more boys than girls, all of us equally terrified and coming from different Segments. Tony is among them, no longer looking so sure of himself. He stands close enough that I can see he’s been crying; after all, he has lost his best friend. But I feel nothing towards him, only the same hatred I have felt for as long as I can remember. I look away. 

The metal door in front of us opens with a loud groan, and I see that it is several inches thick. I swallow, chasing down my nerves as well as the lump of fear in my throat. Maxine squeezes my wrist tighter, enough to hurt, but I think that this is nothing compared to what we will soon endure. 

A man comes into view. He looks young, perhaps twenty years old, and he looks menacing. His face is coated in heavy scars, one dragging from the side of his nose and over his cheek, disappearing under his jaw. It looks red and angry, as if it never truly healed, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. I think he would have been handsome had his face remained smooth, what with his scruffy sandy coloured hair and lean body. He could be strong, but I think speed would be more in his favour. He wears black jeans and a white shirt, looking incredibly casual despite the occasion. 

“My name is Carl. There are fifty six of you here today, which is… disappointing.” His voice is slow, intimidating. It makes my heart hammer. “That means that all of you will be working extra hard to fill in the gaps. You will feel pain like no other, you will see things in a new light, and everyone will become your enemy. Fear and cowardice is not an option here.” 

We are silent, absorbing his words. He continues. “You will embark on many tests during your stay here. You may be here for six months or six years, it doesn’t matter. Each day will be as hard and painful as the last. You will have days of rest, where you can do as you please, which will take place every four days. There are schedules to follow, including meal times and curfews. If you disobey the rules here, you will be punished.

However, today is the day of your first test. It will be hard, but it will be one of the hardest out of the way. Behind me is a chamber containing solitary confinement cells, each one split into two. You will spend the next seven days in a cell, alone and without shower facilities. Meals will be brought to you on our own terms. Hard men break in these conditions, so it is your job to prove to us that you can cope. You are the Selected for a reason; prove to us that we have made a wise decision on bringing you into our world.”

My heart leaps into my throat and chokes me. Solitary confinement, as if we are criminals. People go insane in these circumstances! Seven days may not be a long time, but after going through a Line Up and witnessing the death of many can’t do us any favours. Maxine is trembling beside me, shaking me with her, and I find myself wanting to pull away. 

“One at a time you will enter your cell and stay there. Come forward when I call your name.” barks Carl as he pulls out an electrical pad from his back pocket, and he begins reading out names that I take no notice of, listening for only mine. Maxine goes before me after several others are called, slowly releasing me and disappearing behind the metal door. I watch, waiting, staring at the girls and boys entering confinement, seeing the same fear I am now feeling. Is this what life will now be like? Yes, yes it is. 

“Connie Harper!” Carl bellows. I walk forward, hating how my name sounds on his tongue. He doesn’t acknowledge me as I pass, so I simply enter through the doorway in silence. What I am met by is a long corridor lined with soldiers, all guarding a cell each. One beckons me over five cells down, and leads me to the right down a shorter, narrower path. It is colder in here, causing my teeth to chatter. I see two metal doors, one closed and one open. 

“Inside.” he says, and I do as I am told. I enter, and the door slams and locks behind me. 

I am met by a room so small that it could be claustrophobic, but big enough to hold an object that resembles a toilet to my left and a mat that looks like a pathetic excuse for a mattress to my right. I turn to the door, which has a rectangular slot in it which is where I presume the food will be posted. There are no windows and it is incredibly cold, goose bumps rising on the skin beneath my sleeves. Sighing, tears welling in my eyes, I do the only thing I see feasible. I sit down on the mat, lie on my side, and will more sleep to come while I wait for this nightmare to end. 

I fall asleep to gunshots, blood and screams, all while I am trapped in a room where the walls seem to close in around me. 

A part of me wishes I had the bullet to my head whilst I scream for release in the dream, and possibly in reality, too.


End file.
